Note: Two changes have been made in the story before this. Due to finals in college and general life stuff, I've forgone a full rewrite in Chapter 2 in favor of just extending the scene between Thomas and Sarrine atop the mushroom.
Secondly, since I write this story away from home and an internet, I rely nearly entirely on memory. Because of that, I made a mistake in calling the champion vrykul "Ymirjon" instead of the proper "Ymirjar." This has been fixed.
Chapter 8
A World Changed
X Ranger X
Thomas flinched at the deafening crack of thunder, arriving just too late to see the nearby lightning. Immediately following, there was silence on Azeroth, no matter the ringing in his ears. The crater where the Dark Portal resided was barren, with only rotting wood and rusting steel debris remaining from the previous war effort. One jutting pole gathered the next bolt of lightning, and Thomas enduring the following roar.
Much sooner than they were supposed to, Genveera and the other rangers sprinted through the portal, bows drawn and eyes sharp. The area was abandoned though, at least in this crater. Thomas let go of the shadows around him and gave a nod to Jerath. The bearded man quickly threw his bow over his shoulder and ran back through the portal, to tell the others to come through.
Thomas made his way up the berm of the crater, with Sarrine quickly taking her place at his side. The others followed suit, moving up to take vantage from the top, while Jerath and the first of the Exilee began to march through the portal.
They had finally made it. They were back on Azeroth, everyone of them alive. His promise had been fulfilled.
Atop the rim, the red-dust land was painted red further, and speckled with black like pepper. White bone and colorful cloth were the only exceptions – splashed and streaked, but still stark in contrast. Hundreds, thousands, of bodies lay in unrecognizable pieces before them, and the vultures and other carrion birds were glad for the seemingly endless feast.
Only when they reached the top did the smell reach them, of meat, blood, and innards. Sarrine shuddered at his side, quickly turning away but drawing her bow. The other rangers did the same, notching arrows loosely and giving the land a hard stare. There was no sign of whomever had won the battle here, nor of any wounded.
Nor any corpses whole enough that they might consider possibly alive.
Thomas inhaled the grisly air, recognizing easily the lack of rot or aged death, then began to make his way forward. This had been no battle, he began to recognize. His eyes picked out golden insignias, the wear of simple travelers, the occasional arms of Alliance military or townsmen militia. The smooth, round plate of a knight's spaulder, the unmistakeable red drape of a paladin. An assemblage of parts – no wholes – but through it all, Thomas noticing nothing displaced.
There was no Horde, no creature, no weapon nor scrap, that did not suit that of the droves of Alliance refugees that they had passed previously. All this at a detailed glance, but his eyes could see so well... So painfully well that this had been no battle. It had been a butchery, and this was the killing fields.
"Did we step out onto the wrong planet?" Loraeoth asked, his voice daunted like they all felt. "Surely we've come to the wrong place. We should go back and try the Dark Portal again." Another bolt of lightning and ear-shattering thunder punctuated his words. He had the sounds of hysteria settling in.
"Don't be a fool, Loraeoth," Farron shouted over to him, already throwing his bow back over his shoulder and tucking the arrow away. He was walking towards Thomas. "Welcome back to Azeroth, our home of madness. Peace is not required."
The flippant reply was bitter, but not so much as Dor'rath's: "But apparently pieces are."
"Easy, Dor'rath. Respect the bird chow," Farron chastised, showing no real concern. "Lo, Shadow! Do we slosh through the red bog or shall we skirt around? Smells like disease hasn't settled yet."
Sarrine spun, cheeks red and chest puffed with an angry huff, "Farron-!" Thomas stopped her though with a hand on her wrist. She looked back, eyes wide and demanding.
"Morale," he whispered to her. He understood Farron's game, making light of the devastation. What would happen when the rest of the army witnessed this? What will their reaction be? Already he could hear the excited clamor building behind him in the crater.
Traditional Meyanna followed Farron's example, putting away her bow. "We should put them to rest, as best we can. It's... It's not right."
A cold feeling settled into Thomas' spine as a memory arose, of his conversation with the Commander not so long ago. "They don't even have the decency to bury the dead afterward, and they will ambush you if you try to do it yourself," the man had said. Thomas' eyes moved to the hills beyond, to the edges of the sea of blood, watching for any flicker of movement.
"Our first act upon returning to Azeroth should be burying the past, not a field of corpses," Genveera countered, with traces of forlornness under the steel.
Jerath arrived to overhear her, and he frowned under his golden beard. Upon catching sight of the butchery beyond, he quickly dropped to the ground and placed his ear there. Thomas had thought there too many feet from the Exilee to hear anything, but soon Jerath was standing and shaking his head. "Whoever it was isn't moving out there. Nothing is."
"Could they have gone through the portal already?" Genverra pondered aloud. "Slipped by us in the storm?" As if a reminder of the smaller one here, lightning forked down on a broken, metal-tipped abatis nearby. The crackle of it interrupted any reply. "Or should we assume they're still out there?"
By then, the rest of the rangers had gathered into a small group around them. Velanee, however, addressed another matter, "More importantly, now that your promise is fulfilled, Thomas the Swiftblade... what will you do?"
The reminder seemed to startle the collection, most forgetting that he was in fact not one of them. He had only offered, so callously, to guide them through to Azeroth and vanish after like his title, nearly a month ago. Now the time had passed, his word of safety fulfilled, and all that was left was his departure.
Commander Raeloth saved him from answering, now marching up the slope of the berm with several of the non-ranger officers of their army. "Pardon the interruption, but the army is wondering what the next step is?" Cresting the crater, he beheld the killing fields and paused. "How unfortunate. A lot of that blood still seems wet; we can likely march through before disease sets in."
There was the beginnings of prejudice in the camp, between the rangers and the rest. Thomas, who stood at the front of the whole Exilee, gathered around himself only the rangers, and anyone with eyes and ears knew that he was stylized much after rangers himself, despite the rumors of his utter lack of mana. The other officers felt the gap between the two groups, sympathizing more with Commander Raeloth as their leader. Such had been Thomas' hope, but all combat seemed to paint him in an even brighter light as a hero.
He found himself speaking without even consulting the many thoughts built over the last few restless nights. "It is clear that the world is at war now. The Green Army must hold its form for a time longer, I fear." He strode forward several paces, then turned to face the collected mass of them, all the officers of them. "The exile of the Exilee is over. My promise has been fulfilled. Now, as I also promised, I will leave peacefully and return control of your fate to yourselves..."
His eyes met those of the rangers he had come to know: Sarrine, Genveera, Jerath, Farron, Velanee. Upon the last, his gaze lingered, and her eyes held the unspoken question. He looked to Raeloth. "If rumor is to be believed, Stormwind and Silvermoon have fallen – perhaps other capital cities too. I shall travel in great haste to the human realm of Azeroth, to Elwynn Forest, where I hope to find my friend and mentor. Such is an elf that puts all my skill to shame and is far more suited for leadership than myself."
Taking a last deep breath, he concluded, "The Exilee is welcome to join me, but from this point on, I cannot promise the safety of even a single life. I march through dangerous times to make my way into the war itself. My kingdom has fallen, and my very race is threatened by extinction if we do not rise against the tide of this new foe and secure our continuity. You blood elves have lost more than enough already, with tidings of an even grimmer fate. I will not ask you to sacrifice even more, but any blade, any bow, any tongue of magic is welcome at my side."
There was no hesitation. Velanee moved forward two steps, then knelt before him with her bow offered. Her eyes locked with Thomas', and they shared a nod of understanding. Sarrine, his short lover, followed suit, as did Farron and Saela and Genveera and then all of the rangers. No longer did they appear as elven-faced sticks. Hearty meals and light training had shaped the elves back into their enchanting, slender forms, with lithe muscles sloped over their bones packed with denser strength than any human's.
Raeloth was nodding at those kneeling as he adjusted his cuffs. Then he stepped forward a single pace, drew his sword, and joined them on his knee with the point pressed into the red soil. "You have put the Green Army into my command, and so speaking for us all, I pledge the Exilee back to their Deliverer. Ranger-General Thomas the Swiftblade you shall be called among us, for Ranger-General you are. My only request... is that you remember the rest of us, who are not of the bow."
Even knowing what the future held, they all knelt before him, officers included. Thomas hesitated as he stared at them, reminding himself of his inexperience, then he nodded and took Sarrine's hand, helping her rise. "Stand. Stand, friends... I have not forgotten the rest of the army, Commander Raeloth. I simply know the workings of rangers and rogues best and used them to secure our safe deliverance. I wished for the whole to look to you for guidance. If this is the path you will follow along, then no more will I ignore any soldier – so long as you understand the risks you take."
The commander, now back on his feet with the sword sheathed, smirked. "We are soldiers, sir. We understand."
Thomas recognized how foolish his words sounded then and was grateful the commander's jest was light. Shaking his head, he said, "There is no easy way through to the kingdom of Azeroth. Travel by road will be fastest, and we must move with great haste. I know many still recover from the starvation in Netherstorm, but I must pull from you whatever energy you've harnessed since. Give the order, Commander."
"Yes, sir!"
XxX
Rather than the head of the army, Thomas marched at the rear. The rangers were with him, and while trotting along, they discussed the name that their honor guard would take. Thomas left them to their devices, amused, and noticed when they held one in longer consideration. "Leaf Blades" seemed to strike a liking. Dor'rath, the most roguish one of them, even proposed their blacksmiths rework their slender daggers into actual leaf blades.
Raeloth and Genveera remained in the center of them with Thomas. He took the time to explain everything he knew about the new threat, from the words of Ysiel to the unnamed human lord. The commander thanked him, and then the three discussed possibilities and plans. They did not even know who was responsible for this destruction, nor where the enemy was centralized. Perhaps it was the Legion that had struck, or the trolls in uprising, or the titans had returned in great fury following Algalon's defeat.
Information was their secondary goal when they reached Elwynn or from anywhere along the way. The latter seemed far more likely, until they saw that Nethergarde Keep was completely abandoned. No bloodshed or destruction – just empty save for wind and memories. The gryphon roosts were barren too.
During the climb up between the mountains that separated Blasted Lands from the Swamp of Sorrows, Jerath made his way to the center of them, to Thomas. He said, in Common, "Something is following us. It's quiet, but I think it has since the portal."
Thomas nodded. "I sensed it too. I've been trying to puzzle out its identity since. It's only one creature, but I cannot tell if its one of the butchers of those humans, a scout for them, or a native hoping to throw its lots with an army. All I know is that it moves through the shadows as well as I can."
Jerath nodded. "It's a creature of magic, too. I first caught wind of it from the mana it exhales. Perhaps a magister or refugee elf."
Thomas rubbed his chin for a moment, shook his head. "Not an elf, unless it is like the Felbood variant. Its steps sound lopsided, so it can only be bipedal if one side is significantly heavier than the other. And some part of it drags along, or occasionally scraps the ground from being so low. That scratching too... I can only think of a claws, talons, or some strangely spiked boots. Maybe a light weapon touching the ground?"
Genveera stared between the two of them, her green eyes bright and wide. Clearly, she hadn't noticed due to the sound of them all running. She listened for a few moments, then shook her head and turned her attention upon the problem itself. "Could it be dangerous?" she asked, join them in speaking the human tongue. Her accent was far less obvious than Jerath's. "In Outland, I have seen creatures that could be responsible for that slaughter on their own... That mana beast the Shadow saved us from, at Manaforge Ara, was one."
The possibility unnerved Thomas. His mind connected such a monster with the slaughter, which was tied to the new threat. If this enemy had an army composed of such beings... He thought of the War of the Shifting Sands, were such monsters demolished ranks upon ranks of soldiers, Horde and Alliance both. What if they hadn't had the jump on the old god then? Hadn't been the ones to bring the wall down at their own prompting, when they were ready?
He hadn't been part of that war, but he read all the reports and stories. He knew enough to be afraid, between that and the ones of Yogg-Saron.
"I won't strike until I know it is an enemy, nor will I let it threaten our people at its own choosing. I chose to trail our army to stand between it and us, but now I think we should shake it loose of our trail entirely. Deynora!"
"Shadow," the woman addressed, bowing her head and joining them at the center. That drew the attention of the rest of the rangers, and each ran much closer to them now, to listen in. It interrupted their conversation of "Sun Walkers" versus "Shade Walkers" in names.
Thomas looked to Raeloth. "Commander, I have something in mind that involves our magisters. Tell the Arch-Mages to gather those strongest in matters of the arcane and elements and report back to us here."
As the commander made off to find the nearest officer, Genveera asked, "What did you have in mind?"
Thomas pointed to the two mountain peaks that their path cut between. The formation was jagged and full of boulders. "Landslides aren't common on this path. However, with the right incentive..."
XxX
The rangers were the last through, escorting the magisters back quickly as the very mountains around them began to split apart. Thomas stood at the middle-ground with Deynora, between the falling rocks and the retreating army. The woman that was both magister and ranger glowed bright with mana, with pink and lavender lines swirling up and down her arms, as she guided the sundered earth into falling into a stacked blockade. Her eyes glowed like dazzling emeralds.
Whatever was following them realized the predicament. There was a loud shriek, and something dark phased into existence only a hundred paces away. So close, Thomas realized, feeling a low pulse through his stomach. He had assumed himself more capable than that in picking up a hunter.
Staring at their follower, Thomas realized he couldn't recognize what it was. It was crouched low to the ground, on all fours, like a black wolf. But his eyes seemed to slide off its body, making the details impossible. He could better trace a shadow against a moonless night. But it's size, he realized was like a matured kodo, and there was an odd assortment of limbs that didn't match up. How many legs did it have? Six like a crocolisk? Then what were those arms?
He drew an arrow as the first boulders began crashing down onto the path in a thunder of noise. There were eyes at least. Two or four, he could not tell, but they glowed green like Deynora's did now, giving him a target. Abruptly, at the start of the rock fall, two of the creature's arms snapped forward, and Thomas felt the tingle of new magic join Deynora's – just then her chanting voice hitched and she stumbled back, clutching her throat. Her spell cut off like the snap of a rope.
The landslide was no longer controlled.
Thomas fired his arrow, then another. The first struck an eye. The creature deflected the second with another spell and wailed so loud the voice had to be enchanted. A boulder the size of a house crashed down only a few yards before Thomas, cutting off his view of the creature and reminding him of the urgency of escape.
Grabbing the coughing Deynora by the shoulder, he sent them back, away from the rocks. The roar of the landslide remained a furious storm every step of the way, until Thomas assumed them far enough away. He stopped and turned, looking back to see the rock wall blocked by clouds of dust, but the top was visible as a stagnant point a good fifty feet high. The creature would not be climbing that easily, he hoped.
"It..." Deynora's words cut off for another violent coughing fit. She finally croaked, "Mage-eater."
A felhunter? Sure, Thomas had witnessed them grow to that size, but... everything about that was all wrong. The shape, the feel, the connection to shadows. Yet, somehow the description seemed to fit, in some bizarre way. The Legion was involved somehow, he concluded, and that was a whole new source of worry.
The sun had long vanished over the western mountain range, and Thomas knew they were less than an hour from twilight. They had marched far and long, even better than he expected. Handing Deynora a skin of water to drink, he said, "The orc town Stonard is nearby. We will rest there and hopefully get some answers. Come on, let's rejoin the troops. You did well, Deynora."
The other rangers were waiting for them with the magisters, a few dozen yards farther. Deynora remained hunched into herself for the moment. She drank some and spat, then finished the skin. Handing the empty sack back to him, she nodded to him. "Let's go." Once she straitened again, rubbing her throat, they moved on.
XxX
They found Stonard to be locked up tighter than a goblin's money chest. The forest around the village had been removed to upgrade their walls to a thick barricade, adorned with outward spikes, ramparts for their sentries, and a menacing gate of triple-barred iron that wouldn't easily be battered down.
It took Thomas only a few seconds to devise a way in regardless, as he was a rogue, but his intentions were peaceful. "Lo! We come to make peace and join your defenses for a night!"
The two orc guardsment stationed above the gate snarled at each other, grunting harsh orcish, then shouted at them in the same savage tongue. Genveera, beside Thomas, translated in Common, "They say that the blood elves are welcome, but you must remain outside." Another shout, this one brazen. Genverra's nostrils flared, and she added, "They beg you to disagree with the request, so that their shadow hunter can send you to the grave."
Thomas nodded. He walked forward, standing before the army and alone now, leading the guardsmen to shout in surprise and scramble to get their bows in hand and throwing spears ready.
"You have no shadow hunter!" he told them. "But I have elven rangers, assassins, and the finest magisters of the realm with me! Open your gates and we will bolster your defenses for our stay, or strike me and you will die before the first spear hits the ground!"
The orcs grunted at each other, in strong disagreement, while the others on the wall began shouting, adding to the confusion. After a few long moments of their arguing – two of which looking about to get physical – another face peaked up on the wall, having just arrived. It was someone of pale skin, revealed to be a blood elf, and she gasped in Thalassian, "By the Sunwell! Open the gates, you green-skinned buffoons!" She barked the command again in orcish, pushing the men towards the levers to open the gate.
As the heavy gate began to crawl open, Raeloth stepped up beside Thomas and coughed to catch his attention. He muttered in Thalassian, "Threatening your way in, sir?"
Thomas' smile was sheepish. "Perhaps not the most diplomatic, but to the point – I figure the orcs appreciate bluntness."
Upon the locking of the gate in place, the blood elf ran out, holding her robes above her knees in her hurry. The joy shone bright on her face, as did the hint of desperation. "Greetings, friends! Blessings of the Sun upon you!" Seeing Thomas with the obvious commander, she curtsied them, adding in accented Common, "We welcome you to Stonard. Tell me, from where do you march? Have the Alliance or Horde sent you as reinforcements?"
"We will tell of all, if we may come inside," Thomas replied. He gestured with a hand behind him. "My men have marched hard for leagues beyond counting. We would appreciate rest; we have our own supplies too, so you need not worry about any burden."
Looking at the army behind him and Raeloth, the elf sighed, "I had not dreamed so many warriors remained." Louder, she asked, "How many are you? I'm afraid I will not hold the final decision here, and our town is already stifled with our three hundred."
"We are over five hundred," Thomas admitted.
Loud shouting from the gate interrupted them, as a grizzled orc marched forward with a guard of fifteen hulking orcs. He was shouting in orcish; Thomas' understanding of the language was minimal at best.
Genveera remained his translator, muttering in an emphasized tone, "'Ysanna, what is the meaning of this? ...Under whose authority have you opened this gate? Certainly not your own!'" The woman, Ysanna, turned and snarled back a reply in the harsh tongue. It came awkwardly from elven lips, but it was clear she had experience in it. "'Do not forget that my people and I are here by choice, not command, Warlord Mruuch. I will not stand to see these reinforcements turned away by those gizzard sacs at the gates.'"
A low growl, with a seething undertone was the reply, but the emotion was completely taken away from Genveera's monotone: "'The long ears are given permission. The human is not... And I don't care who gives your commands, rat-skin; in my village, you will obey me or you will lose your head.'"
The elf's expression fell flat, and the song of her words came smeared with rime. "'Do you not remember the fate of the last green-blood who threatened me so, Warlord? Half of him ended up in Orgrimmar... the other half is still lost in the Nether.'"
Thomas was growing weary of watching the spectacle, but he knew of no ways to interrupt without drawing blades.
"'I will watch my beloved Orgrimmar burn to the ground a second time before letting a human inside Stonard, you portal-bitch,'" Genveera translated.
The words gave Thomas a new idea, even more risky than the last, and he took it as his cue. Stepping forward, between the warlord and the Portal Master, he addressed the elf by asking in Thalassian, "You have the reagents to open a portal?" At the interruption, the orc roared furiously, commanding his guards to take action, but Thomas gave them no regard. He hoped his calm would hold back the rangers from action.
Ysanna's eyes widened when she realized what tongue he just spoke, and then she stared over his shoulder, expression changing to urgency. In a blink of motion, Thomas spun and disarmed the three striking orcs. He still had the bursting energy to lurched forward and grab Warlord Mruuch, grappling him down into the muddy soil with his own axe poised at his throat.
A low hiss touched his ears, and Thomas replaced the hand that held Mruuch's arm pinned with his knee. He quickly looked up and caught the first long arrow in his gloved hand. Throwing it into his quiver, he caught and put away the second in a similarly quick motion, then snatched a thrown spear and planted its tip into the ground.
"Shadow!" someone shouted behind him, but Thomas ordered them back, yelling, "Leave me!"
The warlord heaved up with his brutish strength, staggering Thomas. Soundlessly, Thomas repositioned his grip on the orc's massive shoulders, then stepped to the side and threw him over his back to slam Mruuch into the ground again. A kick against the orc's breastplate sent Thomas into a handstand over a swinging axe, planted against the stunned warlord's chest, and Thomas dipped into a quick twirl to to kick a striking orc back a step. His body's groan at the acrobatics reminded Thomas he'd been neglecting the field in recent weeks.
Thomas disappeared into the shadows, vanishing from his handstand, and he reappeared behind the nearest orc guard. A solid blow at the back of the helm made a loud gong and sapped the orc, and Thomas pushed him so he fell lifelessly on Mruuch. The warlord grunted, finally coming to his senses. Thomas added two more thick, orcish arrows to his quiver, then took the next spear and planted it against Mruuch's throat, shouting, "Stop or he dies!"
Ysanna translated, repeating it in orcish, but Thomas knew these grunts knew Common even if they chose not to speak it. After the Second War, nearly every orc on Azeroth understood the language, and even many on Outland. The fourteen standing guards moved restlessly, their agitation obvious, and several roared viciously, beating their chests with fist or their weapons against the ground, but they stopped trying to strike out against him.
As the noise began to settle, Thomas looked back to the elf. He noticed his rangers had their bows drawn and arrows nocked, but their holds were light and non-threatening. He said, "Forgive the interruption, but this is more important than housing rights. We could desperately use a few mage portals to save us time, but neither my magisters nor the skeleton crews in Outland that we encountered have the reagents we need."
"Who... are you, human?" she asked hesitantly. "Outland, your presence... you are the ones Prince Kael'thas marched through the Dark Portal with, aren't you? The traitors?"
"We are the Exilee," Thomas told her, for the first time throwing his own lots in the name. "The exiles of our people, exiles from our homeworld, and we return now as a resistance force against whatever threatens us now." He said the last as a barb against the orc warlord.
"A little late with your resistance, human," Mruuch grumbled from his position. He spat on Thomas. "Phaw! All the kingdoms of this world have burned to the ground, the Warchief and your king with it! All that is left for us is survival, and you humans brew trouble and disaster wherever you go. It would not surprise me if you humans are the ones who opened the Gates of Hell upon the world."
Thomas' frown was deep. "What of Dalaran or Teldrassil? Of the tauren Thunder Bluff? Those places naturally fortified against external threats, meant to withstand sieges for years without falling?"
"Let me up, you pink-skinned filth!" Mruuch roared, and his guards snarled with him.
Thomas stopped leaning against the unconscious orc, standing again with the spear and even withdrawing the first spear to carry one in each hand. Angrily, Mruuch rolled off the defender and stood, but even as he searched for his weapon, the spear touched his throat again. His eyes narrowed upon Thomas, leaving the matter alone.
"Dalaran fell from the sky, towers crushed like Archimonde had done years prior," Ysanna told him, softly.
Mruuch nodded curtly, lips still curled. "My scryers showed me the elven tree-city in flames, already crumbling as it fell into the waters. Thunder Bluff was empty when we scanned the plateaus. No fires, no blood, no tauren. Their chieftain cannot be spotted, and hope begins to fail."
"And who are we fighting? Where do the battles take place, and who is left?" Thomas asked, insistent. Like a ranger, he had lived isolated in wild forests much of his life, and once grown and trained, he lived deep in enemy territory on Outland for the last few years. He was not worried by the circumstances of the world, without capital cities.
"Daemons," the elf nearly whispered, to be overridden by the orc: "Daemons, human, and not those Nether-playthings that warlocks prance about. The daemons that bathe in the fires of Hell, twisted into monstrosities beyond mortal imagining. As for battles! Phaw! Each night is a battle! If you live and breathe, you become the battle, fighting to see the sun rise in the next morning, if it does at all! There is no resistance. So far as I am concerned, there is no one left outside my city walls. That is as far as I can afford to be concerned."
"So you will wait to die?"
Mruuch's eyes flashed in rage, and he stepped forward, allowing the tip to prick his throat. "Do you assume I am a coward? You have not fought them! I have, and I lost fifty of my finest to one! One!" He slapped away the spear, stepping closer and now towering over Thomas. "And there is more than my own life to consider, a concept I don't expect you humans to ever understand!"
Thomas stayed his weapons, pensive, but he noticed movement around him. There was Genveera and Velanee, both with their bows trained upon the orc's chest at point-blank range. "Do not presume to know this man or what he's done to ensure the safety of everyone under him," Velanee remarked coldly. On his other side, Genveera hissed something in harsh orcish, molding the sounds of her elven song unnaturally.
"Phaw!" Mruuch spat, blatantly ignoring the threat to stare down Thomas.
Thomas shook his head, stepping away to think. Idly, he tossed both spears up to the wall again, sticking them to a torch post beside their troll thrower. Turning back, he said to the elf, "I cannot hide behind walls. I must continue, to Elwynn and then to the source of these daemons. May we purchase your reagents? We will depart immediately, for the benefit of the warlord."
The elf looked to Mruuch, then back to Thomas. She told him, "One does not reach my experience without mastering the art of portals without physical reagents. Warlord Mruuch will not respond well to this, but may I, and the others inside who wish it, accompany you on your journey? I offer you my skills as compensation."
The warlord's narrow-eyed gaze switched to her, recognizing that she was speaking Thalassian, clearly to hide her words from him. Thomas gave a single nod. "Like the others, I cannot promise your safety, but we would be grateful for your services." Ysanna first blinked, then her cheeks tinged with a small blush.
Velanee swiftly elbowed Thomas in the side, whispering, "That form of 'service' is sexual favors. You mean 'service.'"
Thomas turned sheepish, his lips tugging up the side in an embarrassed smile, and he bowed to Ysanna. "A thousand pardons, lady. I should have know better than to use a new word so flippantly." Though his eyes did not stray, his perception fell upon Genveera, watching for any signs of nervousness. It was "Snow" that had taught him, after all.
"Forgiven," Ysanna said lightly, still blushing. "It is impressive enough your clear mastery of Thalassian otherwise. Allow me a short while to speak to the other children of the blood, and then we will depart. We must do so quickly, for night has nearly finished falling."
Thomas bowed his head, and she turned to make her way back inside the village. Mruuch watched her go, suspicious, and looked at Thomas with a displeased expression. "Who are you, human, to win the allegiance of your enemies so quickly?"
"I am Ranger-General Thomas of the Exilee," he answered simply. After a moment's pause, he added, "Though the hostilities between our races haven't fallen, Warlord, I wish you luck in the coming days. You are truly worthy of leading your people."
"Phaw," Mruuch grumbled, unsure of what to say.
Dusk was in its final moments when Ysanna returned, heading half a score of other blood elves. Mruuch realized what her intent was then, uttering a throaty growl, but the Portal Master interrupted him with: "If your people were nearing extinction, Warlord, and you found an army of orcs larger than you thought remained total, would you not march too?"
He looked away, spitting on the mud, and barked, "I see half of your pink-skins had sense enough to remain. Die alone, traitors. Back inside the walls!" He repeated the command in orcish, stomping towards the gates with his guards.
Ignoring him now, Ysanna approached Thomas and said, "The daemons come every night, my lord. We should depart immediately; Lorrin and I will establish the portals whenever you are ready."
"Are there scryers among you?" Thomas asked, to which three of the blood elves saluted and nodded. "Scan the area around Stormwind's Mage Tower for threats waiting. Jerath, Genveera, watch with me – see for enemies in hiding."
A blond man uttered a phrase of magic and cast his hand forward. Water spilled out in a calm tide, only to halt still in the air and form a smooth, levitating pool. The three scryers, two men and a woman, chanted the next spell, and at the resolution, the pool shifted its reflection of the violet-black sky to a view of a different land still with the purples and indigo of sunset.
The land was of black soil with charred, square-bricked ruins around them. The vision panned in a clockwise motion from a vantage of perhaps thirty feet. It started at what Thomas felt was the west, giving view of a cliff with short ruins at the edge and the massive sea lingering beyond. The sun hovered a few marks above the water line, and its reflection left gold and orange sparkles in a broad path all the way to the cliff edge. Then the vision turned towards the north, to more broken land and black soil, but with one section of a wall still wholesome, if crumbling.
On instinct, Thomas felt that if this vision was where he thought it was, at Mage Quarter, then to the east would be the true heart of his home city. Stormwind, home to a million humans, yet when the slow pan reached the angle... all he saw was destruction. The keep was a mountain of black rubble, the cathedral's lot now completely empty with only a patch of light-brown dirt. All the homes, shops, buildings that were once filled with human life... now ash.
For the first time, Thomas was able to witness the true horror of the present. The butchered humans outside the Dark Portal appeared like an odd battle, but this was the complete raping of Stormwind, his home and the grandest and most powerful symbol of the resilience of his race. King Varian, perhaps one of the finest gladiators in the world, murdered. SI:7: his guild, full of friends, companions, and mentors – no more than a black-flecked mound of timber-ash. Their massive entrance gates of stone had crumbled, and though distant, the vantage point showed the bridge had collapsed as well.
More than just words now, the humans were in a desperate plight.
"Shadow," Genveera addressed softly. Thomas couldn't even find the attention to shake his head, to dismiss her concern. Whomever had done this hadn't just razed the city to the ground, they took the time and effort to make sure every last building, monument, and structure had fallen. Nothing remained that could even remind someone of the former capital city.
It took a full revolving of the vision before Thomas began to actually search. "Watch hard. There are not many places for something to hide here."
In the end, the three of them saw nothing, and Thomas thanked the scryers. Ysanna told him, "Though the tower has fallen, the lay-line that it resided upon remains. We can still take you there, if you wish it."
"If you'd please," Thomas told her, dispassionate. "Our objective resides within the forest outside the c... outside the ruins."
Ysanna nodded, and she turned to a male elf to discuss their task. As they did, Genveera mentioned, "Shadow, you are certain this friend remains? That he did not die in the catastrophic ruin here?"
"I'm sure," Thomas told her immediately.
"...More than anyone, we blood elves understand what you are going through now. In a similar way, we have lost everything, including our home and so, so many of our people. I know how dearly you must be clinging to hopes, but will you risk our lives to-"
"I am certain, Swan," Thomas interrupted again, coldly. Raeloth and Jerath looked to him, without expression, and Thomas bit his tongue. After a moment's pause, he returned to Thalassian in saying, "I am certain because I know this man. He would not die in the defense of Stormwind. He will wage his war in the forest and seek vengeance on any "daemon" that dares enter it."
They said nothing to oppose his reasoning, keeping their thoughts to themselves if they disagreed. However, Raeloth, with a hand on his hilt in a casual stance, speculated, "He must mean much to you, this man."
Thomas remained quiet, watching the two Portal Masters began to conjure the portals. After a lengthy pause, he finally conceded, "He is the closest thing I have to family."
The portals shimmered into exist, two wide things touching the ground for the army to quickly move through. Without waiting, Thomas leaped through one, drawing his bow and falling into the shadows. He spared no more thoughts on his kind or their fate; this was only a battleground now... No more thoughts at least until he physically arrived at the destruction.
The first difference Thomas noticed on the other side was the feel of the air, and then the brighter color. It went from warm with sticky humidity to the coolness of the ocean breeze. The smells were of salty winds and aged smoke. The utter silence was its own striking trait, until the next elves began to follow him through. By step alone, he knew it to be Genveera and Raeloth, then a pregnant absence of sound following could only be Jerath.
Thomas ignored them, making his way forward, into the city of his childhood. He was reminded vaguely of the old command to never question or even talk to him, as he ferried the blood elves through Outland, and he childishly wished he could enforce it now. He just wished to be alone with his thoughts.
He looked to the ruins of SI:7's headquarters, considering sprinkling dust over it in memory, but he abstained. The dead couldn't be put to rest now. There was no dead to put to rest in sight. The realization struck a thought in him, and Thomas took in a breath before searching to the best of his eyes' ability to find even a single corpse – be it charred bones or a drop of blood. He found nothing.
There was a mystery to this new enemy, he found. Their ways were peculiar, unseen from any enemies before hand. The human lord, on the retreat with his militia, had told him that the enemy would leave out corpses to lure in others for an ambush. Then at the killing fields, not a single trace of an enemy could be found – not even a drop of foreign blood. Sure, the slaughtered could have merely let themselves die, without a defense, or perhaps more likely the enemy had made all traces vanish as carefully as they could.
Such seemed to be the case of Stormwind. If a team of rangers or rogues were trying to be subtle, they would assassinate their targets without a single mark of presence left behind. Looking at this city, however, it was obvious the enemy was not trying to be subtle – so what did they do with the hundreds of thousands that were surely slaughtered? Eat them? Were not even the blackened bones of those caught in fires too repulsive to gulp down?
He compared his two personal encounters, this city and the butchery outside the Dark Portal. Another connection between them was the complete destruction of everything. Every last building or monument had been torn and broken down into parts; outside the crater, every last body had been diced into chunks, even if the body had died from less obvious causes beforehand. Was it to hit the morale of the enemies? To instill inside a deep fear? Or was it a method of thoroughness?
So many questions, yet no answers. He recalled his one sighting of one of the enemies: what appeared to have been a corrupted variant of a mage-eater. Tentacles, extra limbs, black skin... and that strange property that had his eyes sliding off the creature's form. Surely an illusion or enchantment, for there was no other reason that his eyes, trained supernaturally past normal human perception, could not see it when in plain sight.
He blew out a sigh, thinking of the last time he encountered something so odd. The mysteries of the Felbood elves, he related this to, where the tracks had been lopsided and misshapen for the elven footprints. Then the discovery of glowing felblood, yet no presence of any demons at a battle ground, and feathers that had birthed a fear of a new breed of winged demons. It had been a tense period, where their riders scanned the skies for new enemies, all the while fearing that an entire army had been hidden under their noses, waiting to strike.
There had been a strong relief (and disgust) with the realization of the new breed of corrupted elves, but Thomas did not think there would be any relief now when this enemy was finally discovered in full. He knew his mentor would have the answers he sought. It had been many years since they last met, but he hoped the desperate hope that he still lived.
The officers and Raeloth approached Thomas now, though they kept their distance until Thomas gave them attention. Raeloth and Genveera had the most experience and best idea of how to guide this army, though the latter was much like Thomas in that she had only handled small, independent teams of rangers, not full armies.
"We will be exposed here on this flat land, but we would be able to better see any enemies coming. Though we are better suited for the forest, our people are at greater risk from any lurking threats," Genveera summarized, outlining their two options for breaking camp that night.
Thomas had already considered the question. "If my suspicions are correct, the forest will be the safest place in the entire kingdom. If I am wrong, I will take full responsibility for the decision: I will stand guard tonight and handle any threat myself."
"Be realistic, Ranger-General; you don't yet know that you even can handle one yourself," Raeloth reminded sternly. "And we are all exhausted from the march, you more so with your insistence in taking long watches each night."
His accusations were true. Thomas couldn't count on one hand how many cups of thistle tea he had brewed to keep his energy up in the last few days. However, Thomas wouldn't be dead on his feet due to one more night, no matter Raeloth's concerns. Just as he was about to insist, Genveera threw her support with Raeloth:
"You are our finest warrior, Shadow. I think we would all appreciate marching into that forest tomorrow with you fully rested and able to handle any threat at your best. There would be no more risk in having us camp at the ruins of Stormwind's harbor and cycling the rangers and scouts atop to watch for any approaching foes, while you sleep soundly. If a confrontation must happen, we can wake you in time to address it."
Thomas considered the proposal. He knew that if a daemon were to approach, they were not equipped or prepared to take it down themselves and would actually wake him. They would not die to let him sleep longer, at least. With a cup of thistle tea at his bedside, he'd be in fighting shape in a matter of seconds.
"You are right," he admitted. "We will camp at the harbor and enter the forest tomorrow. Everyone could use the rest. I want a bare-bones watch, but with at least one ranger with them at all times. I am to be wakened at the first hint of trouble, understood?"
The two saluted, prompting the other officers who were just arriving to do the same. Thomas noticed the head craftsman, Donvorei, among them, and he asked, "Commander, whom did you anoint to oversee the logistical needs of the army?"
Raeloth gestured towards an Arch-Mage, garbed in violet and indigo robes and crowned with lavender crystals. It was a woman, with long, straight hair the color of charcoal and tanned skin. She lifted her chin when she noticed the attention. "Captain Maloree, sir. Since the Cenarion Refuge, she had been charged with overseeing food portioning, distribution of medical supplies, waste disposal, and so on. I would say her hard work has been essential to the improved conditions of our army."
"Such praise," Thomas noticed aloud, addressing Maloree now. "You have been working Donvorei and the engineers, I assume?"
The Arch-Mage curtsied, and her reply was with a soft, formal voice, "You assume correctly, my lord. I will take no credit that does not include his name."
Thomas had the fayest feeling of stepping into a royal courtroom, with politics, formalities, and spinning manipulations. Awful memories, those. He shook off the thought. "The work of many all deserve much praise for the recent weeks, but the sun will surely finish setting before we can finish singing our thanks. Let us focus on the present. The Exilee has the finest warriors a commander can ask for, with centuries of training shaping rangers, magisters, swordsmen, assassins, and even warlocks into the legends the world knows of them. But no amount of skill or training can make up for power, and in the coming days I believe that is something we will need most."
"My lord commands much power, reminiscent of the Windrunner sisters and the late Prince. What more could we offer?"
"With as much attention and resources as you can spare, I want Donvorei and his engineers to begin construction of manless ballista and the most powerful arcane guardians we can get our hands on. If our enemies are as powerful and deadly as rumor describes, I want them chewing through steel and magic before touching elvish blood."
Donvorei's eyes glowed with pleasure, listening in to his latest orders. "I was wondering when this order would come, once you commanded the army to prepare for war. I've already composed a list of the supplies I'll need. The lumber will be easy to come by in the forest, but I'll need stone, metal, and most difficult will be capacitors, cell-cores, and batteries for the golems. To reach the power that you want, we'll need fel-iron or titanium just for the frames, and dark ores like cobalt for the wiring."
Thomas nodded, then swept his hand towards the area behind him. "Look around you, good craftsman. These ruins are a whole capital city, un-looted. Tomorrow at sun up, Captain Maloree will give you men, and you may take all that you need and more from the city. Ensure that you give thanks to the dead as you do."
The elf turned respectfully solemn at the reminder, and he announced his acceptance: "I suppose we'll start with picks and shovels tonight. We'll sing together a few more carts for materials from the northern forest too."
As they began to turn towards the harbor, Thomas added to Maloree when Donvorei wouldn't hear, "High standards on everything they produce, Captain. Mobility and resilience are crucial, along with the penetrating power of the ballista."
"Of course, my lord," she acknowledged.
XxX
The only light in the tent was a single candle, residing a mere foot from his pillow with his still-steaming cup of tea. Night had fallen well over an hour ago, and the sounds within the camp were dwindling to silence. Thomas found he couldn't sleep, plagued with thoughts of Stormwind, with memories of the people he knew and the places he'd been. As an orphan, he had no family, yet his thoughts turned towards his high elven friend again and again, wondering if he was even alive.
Sorrow held a constant presence in his gut, for all his outward indifference. Thomas was, after all, only human.
At the sound of his tent flap opening and closing, he sighed, looking over from were he sat on his bedroll. "Why have you returned, Snow?"
The mana-addicted eyes glowed bright and fresh now, with no illusion of being anything else. She stood in the usual glamor of white hair and different skin, dressed in the filmy gown – Thomas noticed it was a light color, though opaque to the point of giving hazy outlines beneath. She did not dim the light this time.
A red stone fell from her hands as she crept further inside. Thomas noticed, partially surprised, that it was a bloodgem, though no longer illuminated within. She had brought the object of her addiction to his very tent and expected to have him? Rolling her hand towards the stone, the elf slurred out her words in a smokey, sultry voice, "That's the last of it. It's all tapped now."
Gods, she was beautiful, but Thomas was in no mood for this. In a harder tone, he repeated, "Why have you returned, Snow?"
"You know why," she replied, with this elven song of lust. She fingered her collar, pulled the hem aside enough to give a glimpse of pale cleavage.
Thomas lost his glare and sighed again, unwilling to hold the look any longer. His attention fixed upon the cloth wall of his tent. "You know already that I will refuse you and that loathsome state from the bloodgem. What's more, I am trying my chances with Sarrine, even in this troubled time. I will not."
"Yet this Sarrine is not here now, is she? She did not come to visit you in your tent this night, did she?" Snow questioned, with some emotion in her voice. It seemed a mix of mischief and insistence. "We all understand what you are going through, having undergone the same after the Scourge attack and the destruction of the Sunwell. We know why you sit here awake still, why you will not blow out your last candle. We know the pain inside and the unrelenting thoughts, no matter how well you hide it.
"Tonight, I am here to comfort you, Deliverer. If you will not have me, then do not have me, but I will not leave you alone tonight." Her conclusion led Thomas to frown, and he glanced over to see the one called Snow slip off her thonged sandals and join him on his bedroll, kneeling across from him. Her bright eyes fixed upon him when she settled.
As their stare held, Thomas listened to her breathing, the pattern, and noticed the rise and fall of her breasts from it. From the light within, he noticed the shape of her eyes, the color of green, and the size of her hands clenched on her lap. How much was enchantment, he wondered, the parts that differed from the Swan.
Finally, he stated quietly, "You are not Genveera... are you?" The question and suspicion had remained in his mind even after he had chased her out of his tent at the Cenarion Refuge. His suspicions had only been confirmed, slowly, when he noticed it was only him who behaved awkwardly with the lead ranger, when Genveera gave no sign of response from barbed comments. She had not questioned him about it, yet he often saw the thought lurking beneath the other addict's mind.
Snow paused at the question, then slowly shook her head. "I do not know the name. You have caught me in that I am not who I appear to be, but perhaps Genveera is the one whom I have taken the identity of."
Thomas continued staring, now with questions of this elf bubbling in his mind like a cauldron. He switched finally to Thalassian, "Who are you, then, to not know the name of the one most commonly at my side?"
A luscious smile. "Perhaps I am the collective will of thanks for the Exilee."
"While I appreciate the symbol of the Exilee children of the blood being a bloodgem addict, I don't think that's quite it," Thomas remarked, chuckling. Snow joined in with a soft, chiming laughter that tinkled like bells. She seemed visually pleased to make him laugh. He then noticed the squirm of her thighs, rubbing together, and remembered that she presently fought the bloodgem lust too. Her pupils remained large, ivory drops in the radiant emeralds.
Snow repositioned herself to be sitting beside him, shoulders touching, and she reached over him to seize his cup of tea. Thomas watched her as she took a whiff, then set it down again with a self-satisfied nod. "Swiftthistle. You accuse me of my addictions, yet you too function on an artificial high."
Thomas huffed. "That keeps me alert, not pawing at someone to quench a fire in my loins."
"And yet it is well known to rapidly increase heart rate, and repeated exposure can lead to your heart exploding within your very chest. Which runs the greater risk?"
"Don't you dare try justifying yourself in this manner. It is obvious why I take the tea, and it is obvious why you saturate yourself in those opiates," Thomas deflected sternly. Snow pouted, hugging her knees.
Running a hand through his hair, Thomas sighed, wondering why he was even letting her remain in his tent. Perhaps he really did appreciate the company, if not quite the whom. "Who are you really? If you aren't a ranger, how do you move like us? You are an assassin, surely."
Snow's smile was demure, and she shyly peered over at his eyes, resting her chin on her forearms. "They are the skills of a courtesan that knows her field... and how to service."
"Score of trouble with that word today," Thomas grunted.
"Aha! You used it like the Common word?" Snow asked, giggling. "How rich! I would have loved to have seen her face."
Looking at the temptress, Thomas let the moment pass and said, "You are no courtesan though, not with those calluses on your hands. Bow and hilt. Nimble, flexible, strong – agile, certainly. You touch shadows too. An assassin, you must be, yet not among those I spoke to. Perhaps one of Kael'thas' elite, laying low among the Exilee."
A small smile through the speculation from her. When he finished Snow straightened and grabbed his shoulder, gently pulling him down to the bed. "Let us talk intimately, and I will answer one question with all honesty."
Lured in through curiosity, Thomas allowed it, laying with her face to face upon his pillow. Her small hand remained upon his shoulder, and her foot mingled with his. He noticed again the sweet aroma of Genveera's perfume, coming from her neck. Snow smiled at him, waiting for the question.
Thomas thought it over, knowing he had many he wanted to ask. A name? The identity among the camp? Her origins? The more he thought, though, the more he realized that the answer didn't actually matter to him. She was Snow, the woman who came to console him in the distress of witnessing his people nearly destroyed.
It did not help that that her firm nipples made visible impressions through her gown, or that he was beginning to notice the scent of her arousal. Her inviting, patient smile remained throughout the silence, until he stopped groping after his slipping thoughts, and she leaned in to kiss him. Thomas idly noticed the way the candle dimmed, sheathing them in the comforting dark, as he kissed her back.
Light, he was so exhausted, and he craved the relief and comfort. Thomas gave in to her advance, to her sweet presence and sultry words. Together they shimmied off her thin gown, then worked off the straps and buckles of his armor. He gave in to her fire and bloodgem lust, joining her in the euphoric state.
When it was finished and they lied together in a tangle of nude limbs, Thomas tiredly requested that she stayed the night. Snow promised she would, and with a spontaneous final kiss, Thomas held her slight body in his arms and slept.
XxX
"Let us begin," a voice said into the dark night. The group of them, twelve total, sat apart from the night's sentries. They did not rest as they were expected to, and the one on watch continued his work among them.
"It feels wrong without the Swan here," a woman argued softly, and after a moment of silence, a male's voice countered, "She was not here the first time either."
"And yet she still remains his most trusted lieutenant," another man remarked bitterly. "Right now, she's likely stalking for some hooligan to take to bed, after gorging on her bloodgems."
"Silence," a hard woman interjected. "We are here to discuss the man called Thomas, who holds the fate of our lives and the lives of our people."
"I'll start then, just to get the ball rolling," a man continued, his tone light. "Frankly, I like him. He has the young passions of a human, yet the skills of one decades his senior. Some of his feats go beyond what a mortal should be able to do without mana. Such is a man I believe can take us far."
"He is reckless," the same woman was quick to counter. "He continues to think lines of thought as if he were still alone. He risks himself, and us, in decisions that rely on his own combat prowess. Take for example today's diplomacy with the warlord – he knew he was provoking the warlord into aggression, and he considered that merely a passing side-effect of acquiring his portals here. Did he even consider if the men on the gates began to send their arrows into the army?"
"Yes, he did," another woman considered, her song of Thalassian thoughtful. "That is the way he always thinks, with our safety first. He can jump through shadows, with physical objects no bar. One step to a guard on the wall and he'd have them all dead before the first arrow hit the ground. That boast had not been a bluff."
"And if he had lost?" the hard woman insisted. "If he had been struck wounded or mortally? What defense do we have against these daemons? Who leads us then, and how will they manage to do so without the skills of Thomas? He does not trust us enough to sleep soundly himself. He has not yet used all the tools beneath him as our Ranger-General. Can anyone disagree that Thomas remains better suited as a captain of the rangers than the Ranger-General of the Exilee?"
A heavy silence followed as no one opposed her claim. It was interrupted only be a soft voice, "I disagree." Attention set upon the speaker, including the puzzled frown of the one who had posed the question. The speaker was asked to explain herself. "Much of the Shadow's recklessness was birthed in his promise to us, that not a single elf would lose his or her life during the march back home. He remained overly paranoid, watching every threat nearby both day and night, and as he said, he worked with only rangers because he preferred them. He wanted the whole to look to the Commander. Now that we are truly his, I feel he is becoming more cautious of himself and his significance among us. You all heard him say to the Commander that he will regard the army as a whole now."
The most skeptical of them, the redhead, nodded at the reasoning. "Then we still have conviction to our cause. We still hope. What do the rest of you say? Shall we continue on as we do? Will you continue to devote your lives to the defense and protection of the human Thomas, even though he has all the negotiation and political skill of an ogre? You will lay down your life if it means the preservation of his?"
Mumbled agreements, some still reluctant, until a clear voice announced, "I believe in our deliverer, but he needs guidance. He has grown and lived as an isolated soldier, as an adventurer and hired blade. His heart is in the right place though. The Swan and the Commander both keep his tendencies in check, when they can, but it appears as though they are the only voices of wisdom confident enough to rebuke him."
"What we need is someone well versed politics to stand with him and give council. Someone from the higher class or nobility. I do not know where we can find such in an army of soldiers."
"Genveera comes close, but none of us have had true experience in leading, apart from Raeloth, who was just a captain. Duskfury... why does that name ring bells, somewhere deep in our history? Before the Scourge claimed our home?"
"Leave her kin name alone. In recent years, second names have changed again and again, with the changing of states. Let us focus. For now, there is no quick solution, so we must delay until one arrives. Perhaps this friend of Thomas' actually lives still, and he might be exactly the voice we need. Even in these times of great peril, we must remain vigilant and we must place the preservation of Thomas as our greatest concern. Who will swear to this?"
"I will swear to this."
"I will swear to this."
"I will swear to this!"
A figure nodded, accepting the unanimous agreement between them all. "Then we are sworn into our service. From the ashes before you, draw your weapon. Now stand – rise an Ashblade, and let the night be witness to our pact!"
AN: Expect another chapter tomorrow. I've already given it my usual once-over for editing, so with a small fix to some of the combat, I should have it good to go.
